Month: March 2018

“’Ere, Tone,” said Emma the hairdresser (friend of Mrs S), interrupting the snippety-snip-snipping of her tonsorial attentions as I sat in her kitchen one sunny Sunday morning in June. “You’re the best person to ask.”“Surely not,” thought I, “there must be millions more qualified than me, in every conceivable subject.”“I’ve taken a picture of my fruitbowl.” She continued.“Steady on, girl,” I spluttered, “children present!”But it turned out she was actually talking about an actual fruitbowl, not some bizarre euphemism… I breathed a sigh of relief.